


Tie the Knot, Despite Everything – Victuuri Week Day Six

by CuchyLainx



Series: Victuuri Week 2017 [6]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Day Six, M/M, Soulmates, Victuuri Week 2017, metaphor for homophobia, this is about the power of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 20:30:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9675017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuchyLainx/pseuds/CuchyLainx
Summary: In this world, soulmates are a rare occurrence. They say that it is unfair, they say that it is unnatural.For some, the solution is easy – just pretend you don’t have a soulmate, you’ll be fine!They obviously don’t know how painful this is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you for visiting this work ^o^ ! This was supposed to be an adorable fic about soulmates, but it turned a bit...angsty? Well, I'll let you discover!
> 
> Songs I listened to:
> 
> Celtic Women - The Voice // Damh the Bard - Cauldron Born (full album) // Brandon Fiechter - Ancient Legends (full album)

 

 

As soon as Victor had been able to dream, he had seen them. Three beautiful ribbons, woven together, softly moving as if rustled by an invisible wind. One was yellow; it shone the brightest and was the widest. Another was silver, and was nicely balanced by the larger brown ribbon completing a frayed rope. Sometimes, the rope would randomly appear in his day musings as well, carefully glowing and twisting on itself.

When he asked his parents about it, they had solemnly told him, voices wavering, that somewhere, a bride was already waiting for him. In another words, that he was one of the rare people on Earth to have a soulmate. And immediately after, that he should never, never speak of it again.   

As a child, Victor did not give much thought about the term “bride”. Girls were other children just like him, playmates at best. When he started skating, he started applying the label “light skaters” to them as well.

 

But as the time passed, and that he started to envision his future after pointed questions from overly curious journalists, he thought again of the lonesome rope still haunting him. Instead of considering it an expected element of his dreams, as he had for years, he tried to decipher its meaning. From the information he read online, your soulmate (or soulmates, it appeared) would also be seeing the same rope during the night, and only when you met would the ribbons be fixed.

Before, it had been nearly impossible for someone to find his soulmate before their deaths. Ropes would stay frayed, and hearts would stay empty, despite the partner you would finally chose to love – if you were able to choose one at all. Truthfully, it was as much a curse as a blessing.

The Internet revolution changed these lonely destinies, though, and matches were more frequent. Soulmates became an object of jealousy, the rarity of the phenomenon fueling the resentment. Organizations appeared, protesting the logical value of the process – how could such a relationship, in which nothing made sense, even exist? What presided to the pairing of two beings previously unknown to each other?

Others thought soulmates were purely and simply lying about the visions of their ropes. They considered them as psychologically sick and unstable. They would try to “beat some sense into them”.     

Hence why, despite their best interests, people with soulmates waiting for them rarely publicized it. Sometimes, people would get aggressed if they decided to announce it – the world was a bitter, bitter place.  

 

So Victor was concerned. He was concerned because, even though he spent hours on obscure soulmate identifying websites each week, his rope’s appearance and colors were never matched. He was also concerned because his parents seemed sure a _bride_ was destined to love him, and while he liked girls well enough and could even be intimate with them if he wished to, he could not picture himself ever marrying one. He was concerned because destiny seemed to have given him a harsh choice between solitude and dread.

So he prayed. He prayed that his soulmate would be a boy, and that they would meet in a secure place; and he did not care if they were a skater or not, or if they lived at the other side of the world, or even if they could not love him romantically. He just wanted them to reunite, and to be wealthy and courageous enough to protect each other.

The thought of his soulmate became somewhat obsessing. He would stay up at night, thinking about his broken rope, his face tense as he gulped back the urge to cry. He yearned for a face he had never seen, he longed for a hand he had never touched. During the days, he would find himself glancing to his left, as if to meet the eyes of his companion.

It came to the point he choreographed a whole routine to express his pain. “Stammi Vicino, Non te Andare” was a desperate plea for his soulmate to come to him. Twenty years were a long time to go without your other half.

 

It happened the night after his fifth medal awarding. He prepared to leave the venue with his coach and young Yuri Plisetsky, when a timid-looking person stared right through him as he asked if they wished to take a picture with him – the intensity with which he had been ogled at had made him think the person was a fan of his.

However, instead of a picture and a smile, he got a warm punch in the stomach which brought him to his knees, while the stranger’s eyes widened and their hand flied to his chest. Fear and despair flashed on their face, while they stumbled backwards and frantically glanced around.

But strangely, Victor did not care if media saw that. So what if people learned he had a soulmate? He would be happy barricading himself in his basement as long as his partner would be willing to stay with him.

It was incredible how much his heart had expanded in a timeless second. A moment before, he was Victor Nikiforov, Russia’s pride and hero; but now he was nameless, his whole being changed allegiance.

So when the stranger scurried away, sadness etched on their features, Victor felt like dying. His soulmate obviously knew him – and they looked repulsed by the very idea of having him as a soulmate.

Why? What had he done, what could justify the stranger’s disgust toward him?

He was ever-so grateful to Yakov, who took the matter in his own hands in a matter of seconds. No, Victor is okay. It must be fatigue. Haha, yes, even legendary skaters got low on sugar if you keep them away from food for too long. He would bring him to his room; let him rest before the banquet. Yes, he would be available to answer questions the next day, thank you so much for your comprehension.

His coach half-carried him to his hotel room, while Yuri Plisetsky sneaked in the direction the stranger has fled in. As he entered a restroom, loud sobs startled him. Someone was heavily crying in a bathroom stall, their breath hitching and their nose obviously running.

Revolting.

He took it on himself to startle the dark-haired person out of his crying, by delicately smashing the bathroom stall door with his right feet. The stranger opened the door, a wary expression on their face – as if they were readying themselves to fight.

 

“What…” they began, stunned.

“What _was_ that, idiot! You’re Yuuri Katsuki, right? I saw you flubbing your entire routine earlier. Why did you leave Vitya hanging?”

“Who?” Yuuri muttered, his heart heavy.

 

Too much. It had felt like too much. First, his dog died. Second, his binge-eating got him sick before skating. Third, he “flubbed his entire routine”.

And fourth, his soulmate was apparently his life-long idol who did not even recognize him, even if they had skated at the same event. His soulmate had been exposed before cameras because he could stop himself from gazing at the – in his opinion – most handsome man ever. He had only met him and already he had put him in danger.

How embarrassing. How stupid of him.

He had to flee. That had been the only option at that point.

 

“Vitya. Victor Nikiforov. Whatever!” the teenager before him fumed. “You know what, Yuuri Katsuki? Tonight, you will come to the banquet, and make sure he understands you want him! Is that clear?! I don’t want this idiot doing anything stupid, like crying, or worse, retiring! Who cares if you guys are soulmates? People just gotta pull that stick out of their asses, for once!”

 

The blond boy, Yuri Plisetsky, then stomped away, an angry scowl on his strangely angelic face. Yuuri stood for a while longer, emptily staring at the absence of the younger skater, pondering. Something roared inside him – ever since he had looked in the blue, oh so blue eyes of his soulmate, he had been fighting against himself to prevent him from running back and shouting words of love at the man.

He sighed, feeling his resolve giving in. He could not stay away from him any longer – it already hurt.

Ah, at least Celestino would be pleased to learn he had decided on going to the banquet, after all.

 

 

The champagne had been a bad idea. Victor knew that drinking while you were upset always was a terrible idea – but not even Yakov’s gruff protests could have stopped him. He deserved it, he thought in a haze, while gulping his tenth flute of the night. Even his gold medal could not save the awful day.

When he started to challenge people to dance with him on imagined rhythms, Yakov forced him to sit, putting a glass of water in his shaking hands.

 

“Vitya… that’s enough, don’t make a fool of yourself, that _won’t_ help. You know what they…”

“Excuse me… Mr. Feltsman?” a timid but determined voice interrupted him. “Could I talk to…mmh…Victor?”

 

Yakov turned on his heels, coming face-to-face with a dark-haired person wearing a stuffy-looking suit with a horrible tie. His nostrils flared, and he was opening his mouth to object, when:

 

“You!” Victor suddenly exclaimed, almost launching himself to his soulmate. “Why did you leave me?!” he accused, clutching the arms shaking under his weight.

 

Then, with a bit of anger in the voice, he yelled:

 

“Dance with me! You owe me a fight!”

 

Yuuri immediately understood his soulmate was completely inebriated, and he gently took him into his arms, chuckling. Fear inexplicably seemed to ooze out of him at a steady rate, replaced by bravery and love.

 

“A fight?” he remarked, grinning. “Of course, I’ll dance with you.”

 

They stepped a bit away from the other mingling skaters, Yuuri keeping the dance tranquil and slow so that even drunk Victor Nikiforov could follow his steps. Gradually, as they danced together, anger faded from Victor’s face, replaced with wonder. Their movements grew swifter, more gracious, as Yuuri eased them into a mock-tango that had Victor laughing as he impersonated a bull charging at his matador. They both wished the dance would never end.

But after a while, Yuuri dipped his partner, both of their expressions radiant, and they giggled together in happiness. Tenderly, Victor put his hands to Yuuri’s hair, brushing them backwards. His eyes widened, and he murmured, awed:

 

“Wow… Katsuki Yuuri… He’s so pretty!”

 

Yuuri lost it then, letting them topple to the floor in a tangled mess. He peppered kisses on Victor’s face, only half-shocked at his boldness, mumbling “Oh God, you are so, so stupid!” in his skin.

 

Later, Yuuri and Victor would talk about their relationship, and how to protect themselves from the world. Yuuri would have a fit over banquet’s pictures and videos of them making out on the floor, while Victor would learn not to crush his soulmate to death in his arms out of affection.

Later, they would reminisce about this night, and on how it had been one of the most beautiful moments of their lives.

For now, though, as they huddled in the same bed, under the same covers, their dreams finally matched. Gorgeous and healthy knotted threads of colors drew patterns of love behind their eyelids, forcing smiles out of them even in their sleep.

Love would win. They were sure of it.     

**Author's Note:**

> The ropes are obviously a reference to the old rite of Handfasting, which Wiccans and Pagans still perform today during marriage ceremonies. From what I read, Brown means: the earth, a solid relationship, but also skill, healing. Silver is creativity, inspiration and protection. As for yellow, it obviously is a very positive color, meaning harmony, confidence, but also, because it is so bright, attraction and charm. These are the colors I associate with Victuuri. 
> 
> Ah, I would love them to have a Wiccan wedding! To me, in this universe, soulmates are in fact people who got married for several cycles of life in a previous life by the Handfasting (yes, I want to write more about it also haha, it's never ending) and whose souls are still searching each other. 
> 
> I'm too romantic for my own good haha. See you tomorrow!


End file.
